Maelin winces. “Um. I’m not sure any of us would survive my carrying things around Crisis.”
“That’s the point, princess. The whole point.” Zakery kisses his wife’s cheek, then smiles at me, a touch of his older brother’s insanity reflecting in his pale blue eyes. “Do your parents havefeelingsabout tattoos? I can gladly go topless, too.”
“Thattoooffends me. I’m not topless,” Lukas protests, wearing one of his iconic trench coats that bares his whole chest.
My parents do love to judge people for their tattoos. Or hair dye. Or…I look down at myself…weight.
I am not looking forward to any snide comments concerning any of those things.
Setting a hand on my stomach, I free a breath.
This is going to be horrible.
Brutal as a cruel joke, the doorbell rings like a foreboding gong.
My stomach drops into my toes as a wave of sudden chill washes over me. Heart pounding, I forget what I’m doing—standing—and nearly collapse. Lukas catches me before I fall, and he’s lifting my face to meet his eyes while my head swirls—panic rising.
Why? Why, why, why did I want this? I could have stomached lifelong guilt. I could have managed the tears of grief and buried myself in the warmth I’ve found here. I did not need to give any last chances. I did not need to reach for a closure that won’t come in the way I need it to.
My parents will not change.
People don’t change so easily.
They are just, genuinely, unkind and selfish people, and they raised my brother to be an unkind and selfish person, and I may spend the rest of my life worrying about any traits they’ve passed on into me, too.
I don’t want to be an unkind and selfish person.
It would not have been unkind or selfish to protect myself from further abuse.
“Clara,” Lukas says, perfectly stable, utterly calm.
I focus on him past the ringing in my ears. “Yes…King?”
His mouth closes over mine, and chemicals explode in my brain. A muffled noise escapes me, then my body and nerves go limp against him. My fingers press to the bare skin of his chest, tracing a wing of his phoenix tattoo. When he frees my lips, I’mlightheaded, but breathing deep. He murmurs, “Keep your eyes on me. You’re safe.”
“No one messes with my sandwich dealer,” Kyran mutters, glancing sidelong at me, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. “And certainly no one messes with my sister.”
Emotions choke me, but I tell myself not to cry, and I almost manage it…until my mother’s shrill voice rattles through the room, shaking the crystal chandeliers. “Well!” she declares. “Toobusyto greet your own mother at the door?”
Turning, I find crossed arms, green eyes, blonde hair, and the constant haughty disappointment I remember. It breaks, marginally, and she spreads her arms as a sniffle rocks her. “Come here, baby.”
My body moves, automatically, and I wrap my mother up in a hug as sobs rend through my chest.
Pain. There’s justpain.
Pain that I don’t know what to do with.
Pain broken by more pain.
“Have you gained weight, Clara?” Mom mutters in my ear. “You should be watching yourself better with someone like King interested inmarryingyou.” Her face shows no signs of distaste when she pushes me back and cradles my jaw in her hand, shaking me slightly. “There’s my crybaby,” she says, smile wide. “How have you been holding up, honey?”
An arm lands heavily around my waist before it reels me in against firm muscles.
Mom’s expression cools. “King.”
“Food’s getting cold. My girl’s been working all day on this meal.” His hand slips down my hip, back up. “Let’s give it the respect it deserves.”
“Figures you wouldn’t let a mother talk to her daughter for five minutes.” She throws a hand out toward my father and brother. “Clara hasn’t even greeted her whole family yet.”
